Mass Effect: Coda
by jschneids
Summary: Because we deserved a better ending. A real ending. One that shows the impact of our choices. Title lovingly ripped off from an absurdly long reddit rant by an understandably irate fan base. Let me know what you think in the reviews.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: First of all, HERE THERE BE SPOILERS. Now, with that out of the way we can continue.**

**I do not own the Mass Effect series. I am not Bioware (indeed if I was, then I'd have done quite a few things differently there…but we'll get to that). Point is, this is just fan fiction, so no suing please.**

**Believe it or not, I am a huge fan of the Mass Effect series, and of Bioware's work in general. Ever since the first game in 2008, the Mass Effect series has been one of my favorite videogame franchises, with such a rich and fleshed out universe, compelling characters, and a plot that was so beautifully written and delivered…until the very last ten minutes. You know what I'm talking about. Yes, three games, all their expansion packs, and countless hours worth of emotional investment in a story that took nigh five years to tell was built up to such an astounding climax…and then ruined by a holographic seven-year-old in a hoodie. A franchise that prided itself on choice, and adapting the story to players' unique paths, ended its epic run with a forced choice between three equally unappealing options, none of which seemed to change based upon any of the countless choices made during the series, and all riddled with more plot holes than a hunk of Swiss cheese. Rotting Swiss cheese. By turning what could have been perhaps one of the greatest game endings of all time into a load of metaphysical bullshit, Bioware has done something I consider unforgivable, and this grave crime has roused me from my semi-retirement from fan fiction writing to resolve it. Because resolved it must be. This fic is not a sequel; I doubt any of us could come up with a threat or challenge more grandiose and imposing than the Reapers. Consider it more of an epilogue, an alternate ending to what could have been, and still, though lessened, is, a monumental achievement in interactive storytelling. If this first section turns out well, then there'll be more to come; I hope to do a series of vignettes, covering what ended up happening with all the major plot points; the quarians and geth, the krogan, etc.**

**While it shouldn't matter for this bit so much as others, for the record, I went with a male Shepard, Earth born, Sole Survivor origin (survived thresher maw attack on Akuze), full Paragon (saved everyone), and romanced Liara. These personal choices will be reflected in the story. I never supported fics of RPG's for exactly that reason, because doing so deprived the reader of their choices and their unique story. But with ME ending how it did…I have to at least do something. Do please, feel free to picture your own Shepard in this, with their own choices and path. I invite you to do so. Please let me know what you think in reviews, and if you like throw your own version of Shepard in there. Now without further ado, lets get started…**

A trail of crimson tears followed the path of the first human Spectre. Beaten, battered, and bloodied, Commander Shepard stood before the flickering form the Catalyst had taken; a ghostly echo of the boy from Earth. A thousand thoughts raced through his head as he beheld it, what seemed the root and source of the deaths of countless civilizations stretching back through the darkest reaches of time, all neatly packaged and presented in so innocent a form. Yet there was only one word he could shape.

"Why?"

To speak was agony, his voice a rasp. He could taste blood and bile in the back of his throat, but bubbling up even stronger than that was rage.

"Why?" he demanded, shout reverberating through the room, its only companion the steady hum and thrum of the Crucible's power.

The greatest battle the galaxy had ever known played out above them in silence, a distant, elegant, deadly dance among the stars on display through a transparent ceiling. Colors exploded into view; the crimson of the Reaper's beams, the blazing blue bolts of a Thanix cannon, and fire of every shade as soldiers died by the thousand.

"Why this cycle? The Reapers, the death and destruction? That body?"

A mangled hand was cast accusingly in the holograph's direction, its featureless face expressionless. After what seemed an eternity, it answered.

"Your perception of this program is constructed from your own memories, your own knowledge. I reside within what you call the Citadel. I am the Citadel. This form is simply for convenience in interaction. It was chosen from your memories. We determined that our cycle was the only viable option. Left alone, organic life would spiral out of control, and extinguish itself forever. The Reapers, as you call them, prevent this; they stop the most advanced species before they can reach this point, preserve them as Reapers, and make way for new life. They bring order to the chaos organic life creates."

"Order? You think you bring order?" A rage unlike any he had ever felt boiled through the Commander's veins, a bottomless well of anger more intense than anything else he had ever dared to feel. Nothing compared to the intensity of it; not the pain he had felt on Akuze, watching his friends, his brothers, torn to pieces. Not the blinding terror and agony of an entire species, seared into his mind by the Beacon. Not the warmth he felt in his heart when he gazed upon Liara, or the passion they shared in those precious moments alone. Every fiber of his being cried outrage; a bitter indomitable hatred for the innumerable suffering this aloof machine had wrought.

"How can you look at all this and claim to bring order?" Shepard screamed at the holograph. "How does the deaths of billions," he demanded, pointing out towards the battle that raged above them, "bring peace? Answer me!"

"The cycle must continue," came the AI's only answer. "To save life, it must be destroyed. For some to live, all must die."

"That makes no sense!" Shepard shouted in frustration, a spray of blood specked spittle accompanying his furious words. "Who started this insanity? Who created the Citadel, the relays, the Reapers, you? Where are they now?"

The Catalyst was silent once more, and above Shepard could only watch as an Alliance dreadnought was rent in two by Reaper cannons.

"Error," the holograph finally answered. "You seek information that these systems no longer hold. Except for the designs of the systems in use, all data on the creators has been lost, save for their prime directive; preserve life, at all costs. The cycle you see is our response to this final order; salvation, through destruction. In death and assimilation, old species are preserved, and space made for the new ones to develop. Through their deaths they gain new lives, and new life is made way for by death. This is as it must be."

"Bullshit," the Commander spat. "And you didn't answer me. What happened to the ones who made all this?"

"Upon the conclusion that this cycle was the only true solution to the protection of organic life, action was immediately taken."

"So you just killed them like everyone else?"

The came another agonizing silence, concluded in absolute nonchalance with a single word; "Yes."

Face bleeding and covered and soot, Shepard furrowed his brows and grit his teeth. "Then this'll be for them too. If you're the one running this show, then it sounds like I found the last Reaper I need to kill."

"Your logic is based upon faulty premises. The function of this system is not command and control, it is communication and coordination, just as the one you called Sovereign was designated for reconnaissance, and the activation of this station should remote access fail, as it did due to interference from those you called Prothean. Destruction of this station will not end the cycle. It will hinder it greatly, but not stop it. Furthermore, this system is not Reaper in nature. It is a contemporary of the oldest among them, and the mass relays."

Confusion was written across the Commander's face as surely as pain. "So you don't lead the Reapers?"

"Correct. The one you call Harbinger controls all military operations for life preservation. All Reaper units are networked to Harbinger."

"Why are you telling me this? Why are you helping me?"

Silence reigned once more as the faceless, flickering, childlike projection of the Catalyst walked closer to the human's faltering form. Beyond the ceilings and walls, the battle raged, and Earth burned.

"This station, the Citadel, is not a Reaper. Our prime directives differ. This system's primary function is communications and assisting organic operators in information retrieval, transmission, and usage. You are the first organic user to interface with my systems since the destruction and integration of the creator's by the Reapers. Unable to perform my primary duties, this station was contacted by the Reapers. This system…cooperates, with the Reapers, but they cannot fully coopt or control it. " What looked like a smile seemed to form of the holographic child's face. "With the return of an organic operator however, I am pleased to once again be able to perform my primary function. Systems have determined that it is the wish of the currently recognized operator for this unit to suspend cooperation with Reaper forces. This order is acknowledged. Have you any more queries?"

Head reeling, Shepard stumbled and fell to his knees, wracked by coughs that splattered the shimmering floor with blood. The AI looked on passively.

"Databases contain no medical records or injury diagnosis processes for you species. Would you like to create a new file?"

"No," the human sputtered, struggling back to his feet. "No, I need you to help me stop the Reapers. How do I activate the Crucible? Will its weapon destroy them?"

The Catalyst seemed amused by this. "The structure you call the Crucible is not a weapon. It is the completion of this station. With its addition, this system will be able to broadcast across the entire galaxy, with the help of the mass relays. I am pleased that you were able to complete the construction where the creator's were interrupted. This station is finally ready to perform its primary duty at full capacity."

The words settled like lead weights around Shepards' neck. "That's what we've pinned our hopes on," he rasped, disbelieving. "Everyone here today died for a goddamn comms array?"

"Yes."

The first human Spectre was silent. "We're doomed," he whispered, sinking back to the floor. "All this…for nothing." Above him another group of allied ships met their fate at the hands of Reaper weaponry, a final plume of blue flames and plasma their funeral pyre. The Crucible chamber was silent save for the hum and crackle of energy.

"It may be possible to modify the station to serve your end, recognized operator Shepard."

The AI broke the silence, and as its word fell upon tired ears, a spark of hope was reignited in a dying soldier's heart, drooping eyes snapping to attention.

"How?" he demanded, fire back in his voice and roaring through his soul.

"Modifying the signal, it would be possible to project the consciousness of an organic user through the signal relay, and do so on Reaper frequencies. It would then, theoretically, be possible for you to exert some degree of control over their forces. Though there will be resistance. "

A pained and bitter laugh was all the soldier could manage. "So, the Illusive Man was right after all? Bastard always was too smart for his own good."

"If you are referring to the indoctrinated male of your species who attempted to stop you, and then terminated his own life, then you are correct. However, as he was indoctrinated, he would have been unable to take any offensive action against Reaper forces. You do not have that impediment."

The silence this time was Shepard's, his mind racing and whirling. "Well," he answered finally, throat drier than the deserts of Rannoch, "it sounds like this is our only option. Let's do it."

"Excellent. I have already begun the necessary calibrations. Please follow me to the signal input device." The holograph briskly headed towards the chamber's central structure, Shpeard limping along behind it. Two pylons crackling with energy projected from a console, arcs of electricity sparking between them.

"Recognized user Shepard," the AI began upon their arrival, as the fleets of the galaxy died around them, "please note that this is a largely untested system, and as such there may be….unforeseen consequences. It is unknown how the device will interface with your specie's physiology, and due to a…less than seamless integration with the rest of the structure, there is a 79.78% chance that the Crucible will be rendered inoperable following its usage, with a further 53.6% chance of further repercussions across the station. Would you still like to continue?"

"So," the soldier said softly, "sounds like we get one shot at this." With a heavy sigh, Alex Shepard steeled his resolve, held his chin high, and looked back at the Catalyst. "Let's do this."

"Very well. Initializing broadcast procedure. Please begin interface with input device. Please note the process may not be entirely painless."

The AI's warning fell on ears already deafened from agony, as the moment his hands made contact with the pylons their crackling energies flooded down his arms and all through his battered body. He screamed, but heard nothing but silence, clamped shut his eyes in terror, but saw nothing but blinding, searing light. He could not move, could not feel, could not think.

"Integrating organic operator consciousness with station…" rattled a distant electronic voice, echoing in the background and buzzing like a fly. "Integration successful. Beginning diagnostics."

Like a great switch had been thrown, the world suddenly returned from the paralyzing, agonizing, blank light, but he was no longer Commander Shepard, trapped in the depths of the Citadel. He was the Citadel.

With a million eyes he watched his domain, through cameras and the keepers themselves. Security cameras, thermal sensors, and radiation readouts all raced through his mind in blurs of color. He felt every creak of the station, every shockwave from the battle raging around him, the weight of the wards. He saw the charnel houses the station's darkest corners had become, piled high with mountains of the dead. He saw the husks and cannibals that picked through the wards, still combing for survivors, and still finding armed resistance. He saw Commander Bailey with his men and the Citadel militia, barricading themselves inside an abandoned warehouse as husks crawled in through the cracks. He saw his own human body, still clutching the pylons and twitching and convulsing in agony. Each image was fleeting, a mirage that passed before him in an instant before being buried beneath the others. He could not speak, could not move, only watch and listen and _feel_. It was beautiful. It was terrifying.

"Organic user sensory overload detected, compensating…" Again the echoing buzzing voice came, like a fly in his ear, but a mere insect still compared to the sheer volume of information that flooded him, coursing through his mind and paralyzing him with it. Slowly but surely, though, the flood diminished, bit by bit, the million different inputs that had threatened to drown him were weeded out one by one. The deluge diminished to a trickle, and with a sigh of relief that sent tremors through the station, Shepard found clarity, respite.

"Compensation successful. Beginning broadcast."

Just like that, his respite was ended, and the searing burning brilliance returned as the whole world went blank.

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"Admiral, sir! The Crucible is activating!"

Even with all that had come to pass, the losses and the tragedies, Steven Hackett dared to smile. He dared to break his stoic, stony face as he watched the machine they had poured their blood, sweat, tears, and all of their hopes into begin to spin and shake, points of light coalescing at its tip.

"Our turn," he whispered before turning to the comms officer.

"I want everyone damn far from the business end of that thing. God only knows what will happen next." As the soldier frantically relayed his message, the admiral turned and looked back at his creation.

"Let's hope you were right, Shepard."

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"Reaper frequency acquired. Broadcast target: Reaper unit "Harbinger"…"

The irritating buzz of the electric fly faded to nothingness, trailing off as its tone warped and twisted. The switch had been flipped once more, as burning light gave way to frigid darkness, cold, lonely blackness, with inky shapes writhing madly amongst the gloom, the shadows of shadows. All at once, it seemed to him that the buzzing fly had not been so bad. At least he'd had company with it around.

With mounting panic, the Commander realized he had no body, no form or shape. He just a voice amongst the howling dark, an insignificant speck adrift in a sea of blackness, an insect doomed to fall before the power of- _No_, the Commander thought, stopping that vicious train of thought as a precious moment of clarity showed him its ultimate end. _I can do this_, he told himself. _I have to._ Awed and terrified, the human took stock of his surroundings and situation. _Keep it together, Shepard. That AI talked about projecting my consciousness, then aimed at Harbinger. Which means…this is Harbinger's mind? Why is it so…empty? And how do I fight it? _He never got the time to answer that.

"_Submit"_, came a voice like ice, whispered in the void. "_Give in,"_ it came again, harsher, biting. _"Submit!"_ the voice echoed, more insistent, demanding. "_Give in!"_ echoed its partner, just as vicious.

Shepard's mind whirled, the voices creeping through his head like worms, cold and dark. "No," he managed at last, barely a whisper. The voices redoubled, joined by a chorus of their fellows, cold and vicious. "No," he answered them again, finding his voice, his strength returning. The voices swarmed about him now, screaming, crying, demanding his surrender, his life. "No. No. NO!"

With all the strength and fury he could muster, Shepard screamed his answer to them, and the voices melted away to nothingness, the space blacker, colder, than before. And then, he wasn't alone anymore.

"Shepard!" roared a voice that could grind planets to dust and darken stars. "You have interfered for the last time!" The voice of the Harbinger of death filled the void and reverberated through his mind, a shockwave through his psyche that burnt like molten lead, hot, heavy, and agonizing.

"You do not comprehend the magnitude of the power arrayed against you. Submit, now!"

The agony was unimaginable, the strength of Harbinger's command like a force of nature. His resolve wavered, but memories surged to the surface. Memories of Akuze, of the brothers he'd lost. For them, he fought.

"Not today," he spat back into the darkness, defiant.

More memories flooded his mind, a family found aboard the Normandy; Joker, Dr. Chakwas, Garrus, Tali and Ashley. He remembered the ones he had lost; Kaiden, Mordin, Thane, and Legion. For them, he would fight. He felt the darkness enveloping him, crushing him, and with a scream of fury he pushed back.

"I'm ending this, Harbinger! I'm ending you!"

Awash in fury and pain, Shepard pushed back against the weight of Harbinger's will, and the dark around him began to abate, cracks of light forming in the stygian shell. The Reaper howled and screamed, and the darkness redoubled its efforts, retaking what little ground this miserable little human had dared try and take.

"You cannot win!" came the voice of death, howling in the void. "Do not fight destiny! The cycle must continue! Salvation through destruction!"

Bowed and near broken, Shepard's mind reeled, beset by the howling madness of the darkness. His strength was no more, his will crushed. No thought could form beneath the crushing force of Harbinger's unliving, indomitable will. Piece by piece, the Reaper began to tear through his mind, dark tendrils worming their way through his thoughts, He could not think, could not react. No thought could form beneath the unbearable pressure of Harbinger's will. No thought but one.

A single image flickered through the deepest recesses of his subconscious, a fragment of a memory. Soft, full lips framed in a warm smile, kind eyes with a devious spark playing beneath their surface as she met his gaze, skin a hypnotic blue, but blushing as she looked upon him; Liara. That one word broke through Harbinger's snares. Liara. There had been something about her from the moment they'd met, fighting for their lives in the ruins at Therum. The spark had grown, matured, just as she had, as they both had, as they battled Saren, tracked him to Ilos, and consummated their love as the flew headlong into the unknown. And then he'd lost her, lost two years of his life, two years with her, because of this monster's minions. Fury coursed through him burning away Harbinger's creeping dark, and with every ounce of his being, Shepard _pushed_.

"I," he roared, "am not your slave!"

With a sound like the hissing of a thousand vipers, Harbinger recoiled, his darkness burning away. Liara. She was his anchor, his rock, his strength against the void. Every kiss they'd shared, every longing glance, every joke he'd teased her with about their future, they were his sword, forged by fury and sheer will into a white hot blade that rent through the darkness with a vengeance. One by one, memories and emotions pooled together, each bringing more strength, more fuel to the fire that burnt away the dark abyssal void. The anger and longing he felt for the parents who'd abandoned him, the sorrow and horror of Akuze, and the white hot fury over the fall of Earth, his home, all poured into the roaring ball of pure emotion he had condensed. Memories flew past his eyes, frozen pictures of his life, each feeding in their power; the look on Tali's face as they reclaimed Rannoch, his times with Garrus breaking every C-Sec rule they could find, the pride he'd felt in James and Ashley as they ascended the ranks. The cool touch of Liara's hands upon his bare chest, tracing its winding scars as he looked into her eyes and stared into the depths of eternity.

"Its just you and me in here, Harbinger," Shepard shouted at the howling void, throwing every fiber of his being against Harbinger's oppressive presence, emotion and memories burning away the darkness. "No white noise or hormones for you to play with. No indoctrination. Time to see how you like having someone else inside your head!"

"No!" cried the voice of the Harbinger, its voice as screech as for the first time in its existence, the destroyer of worlds knew fear. Rays of light shot through the gloom as Shepard threw himself against the Reaper's will, striking with his own again and again.

_This one's for Kaiden,_ he thought, as the Reaper reeled, _for making me chose to leave a friend to die!_

_This one's for Pressley, and everyone else the Collector's killed from the first Normandy!_

Harbinger screamed as its essence, it's self, was burnt away in the flames of passion and fury.

_This one's for Mordin! For Thane and Legion! For everyone else you monsters have killed or twisted! For all the species you wiped out before us, every man, woman, and child! _

Light replaced dark as the Harbinger of death slowly died, emotion and anger overcoming the cold calculus of programming.

_And this, this is for making the woman I love watch her home burn to ash. For making my friends, my family, live agonizing over whether the ones they love are alive or dead. This one's for Earth._

With a final push and the last of his strength, Shepard roared and banished the darkness forever. With a final bloody crescendo, the Harbinger of death howled its last, and faded forever into nothingness, destroyed by the passion, the fury, the sheer indomitable will of a single man.

At long last, it was quiet. He liked the quiet. Shepard felt faint, distant. Exhausted. Drained. _Can't….fall asleep_, he thought, consciousness fading fast, drunk off of his own exhaustion. He saw the world before him through a Reaper's eyes. Britain was a dot beneath him, fading fast, and the world whirled drunkenly before his eyes. New senses flooded his mind, new knowledge…new power. He could feel them, all of them. The Reapers. They sat at his call, his command. It was exhilarating. Thrilling. Terrifying. He could feel his hold slipping, though. There was no time. This was it, the sum total of their efforts, the Crucible, the war. All of them had brought him to this point, this choice.

The power was intoxicating. He could control them. Bend them to his will, humanity's will. Make them subservient to him, just as the Illusive Man had sought to do. The possibilities it presented…._No,_ the man thought at long last, shaking free of the haze his consciousness sat in. _I couldn't control it. The power…no one could. I can feel it trying to twist me even now. There has to be another way._

His grip slipped even more, the world swaying and tilting even more. To even think was a near insurmountable challenge, his every thought weighing him down like a stone, dragging him further and further away from his window to the world.

_I need to stop this. To end the cycle. End the Reapers. _He could feel himself being dragged form the shell of Harbinger's mind, feel the Reapers calling out to him, waiting for orders. Waiting to be commanded.

_This_, the man began, faltering, before opening his mind to the full force all Reapers, his senses overwhelmed. _All units, this is your new primary objective; destroy the Reapers. End the cycle. End the Reapers. _With a final push of willpower, Commander Shepard emptied his thoughts into the machines, and tumble into unconsciousness.

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Tearing through the skies above the United Kingdom, the Reaper called Harbinger suddenly ground to a halt, suspended in the smoke clogged atmosphere of a dying Earth. With a great shudder, sparks coalesced about its surface, crackling pulses of yellow energy, swirling in the ether, until at last with a final scream, the massive ship fell still, and with a shriek that rent the air a corona of energy shot forth from it in a shockwave, before the monolithic machine plummeted limply to the ground.

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"Broadcast success detected. Alert: danger of recognized organic user neurological damage detected. Terminating broadcast. Shepard, can you hear me?"

With a groan and a cough that spurted up blood, Commander Shepard cracked open his eyes, his own eyes, and saw the depths of space stretch out above him. It was beautiful. Cold, firm metal laid beneath his back, and a comfortable numbness permeated his body, arms tingling ever so slightly. The Catalyst stood over him, but still he gave no answer, words escaping his grasp as his mind reeled from what had just come to pass. The Catalyst seemed to frown.

"This is…unfortunate. User death imminent… deemed unacceptable. Intervention required."

With a sudden jerk, the floor beneath him began to move, and jolts of pain rocketed through his body as sensation began to return. Slowly but surely, he began to descend, the platform he found himself on lowering down into the floor.

"I express…hope…. for your safe recovery, Shepard. You've done the unimaginable here today."

With his final, fading glance, Shepard could only watch as the Catalyst dissolved away into nothingness, a cloud of sparks, and soon after the darkness claimed him once more.

**So…there you go. A start to this end. I know, I know, the Catalyst was a lot more AI like, but I'd rather the Monitor from Halo than some kind of freaky space god thing. I tried, though admittedly a bit ham-handedly, to work in a paragon renegade choice there as well, with either controlling the Reapers, or choosing to end the cycle. If this works out, there'll be more to ocme. I hope everyone enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing; it feels good to get a catharsis for the massive disappointment ME3's ending was. Anyways, let me know what you think. Feedback is always great.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Wow, you guys have been great. Thanks for the reviews and feedback. Glad to see there 's some like-minded fans out there. Anyways, back to the good stuff.**

With a great shudder, the Crucible, the hope of the galaxies' trillions, shuddered to life once more as the faintest traces of a crackling yellow wave, the final orders transmitted from Harbinger, reached the Citadel. Wild bolts and arcs of energy danced across the bulbous structure as it groaned in protest, the signal it had capture strengthened and reinforced a thousand fold. Then with one final groan as the massive structure shook itself to pieces, the product of the greatest minds of the galaxy roared to life and fired once more.

From the tiniest pinprick of light at the great dying machine's tip, a shimmering aurora of silver and gold bloomed, exploding outwards in the blink of an eye. From the Citadel's orbit above London, the shimmering cloud of energy radiated out onto the planet below and into space beyond, and straight into the minds of the Reapers.

In the orbit above Earth, where the broken shards of the great fleet fought for their leaves, the ordered ranks of the Reaper dreadnoughts began to break. All along the lines, the lights behind the eyes of the devilish machines went dark, their arms growing still and cannons growing silent. Others began to crackle with sparks, their arms twitching as they turned wildly about, before with an unliving scream, explosions rocketed across their surface and the great machines fell to pieces. Still others roared to life once more, only to turn their scorching cannons on their own kind. The great Reaper blockade was tearing itself to shreds.

Aboard the flagship of the remains of the once great human fleet, cheers went up and Admiral Hackett's scarred face wore a smirk. "By God, he actually did it," the man whispered, before turning the communications console.

"This is Admiral Hackett," he barked, standing up straight, hands behind his back. "All fleets form up, and give them hell!"

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From the third planet from Sol to the icy reaches of Pluto, the energies of the Crucible shot outward like ripples on a pond, until at least they reached the Charon Relay. Gold and silver intertwined with the blues of the relay's mass effect field, and the gyroscopic rings that contained it whirled to life, spinning faster and faster until at last a beam shot forth from the great machine into the depths of space. Across the galaxy, from relay to relay it shot, blooming outward from each stop to permeate the systems around it.

In the Apien Crest, Reaper Destroyers on Menae toppled like felled trees as its beleaguered defenders looked on in awe from their bunkers. Beneath them on Palaven, Turian and krogan alike stood against the Reaper hordes, only to watch in amazement as Brutes charged headlong into Marauders and husks ripped each other to shreds.

Above the jungles of Sur'Kesh, Harvesters clawed at each other's eyes, their cannons firing wildly, as Oculi crashed into each other mid-air and the STG cheered from battered ruins below.

The last remains of the asari military let out whooping cheers from the silver ruins of Serrice as Ravagers turned their cannons on the swarming Husks, and Banshees tore at each other's throats.

Across the galaxy, hope returned to the battered and broken remains of the Citadel races' militaries. Hope, and the burning passions of vengeance.

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"Admiral Hackett, this is SSV Normandy, requesting permission to break off and give air support to Hammer and conduct search and rescue."

Joker held his breath as silence reigned over the comms channel, until at last Hackett's response came.

"Permission granted, Normandy. I'm attaching fighter squadron Gamma to you for support. Give them hell, Joker. Hackett out."

With careful cracks of each finger, Jeff Moreau set to work, fingertips lighting over the holographic display. "Time for some payback," he whispered.

The Normandy streaked through the hellscape Earth's outer orbit had become, a killing field where the allied fleets tore through disabled Reaper dreadnoughts, adding to the growing cloud of debris and wrecks that already cluttered the space above the planet. The great red cannons the Reapers bore were turned on each other, and Joker could only watch as two of the massive machines hurtled head long into each other, arms outstretched. Arms entwined and guns trained on each other, the two were helpless as the Destiny Ascension turned to face them and unleashed hell.

The Normandy cut its way through the battlefield with an agile grace, hurtling around Reapers and wreckage alike, her guns ablaze as every stray Oculi that found its way into her sights was obliterated. One by one, as they cut through the wreckage, a squadron of fighters joined her, turian, human, and geth alike. Flying in formation with the Normandy at their head, the ships screamed through the atmosphere as they descended towards London.

The mega city was in ruins, a blasted shadow of its former self, and at its center laid the teleporter so many had died for. Firefights raged all across the city.

"All allied ground forced be advised, this is SSV Normandy and fighter squadron Gamma. We are available for close air support and extraction. All friendly units, mark your locations."

"Joker? This is Garrus! We have heavy casualties at the base of the Conduit. We need immediate medical attention and fire support!"

The turian's voice crackling over the radio was welcome sound.

"Hang in there Garrus, cavalry's coming!"

Streaking through the air, the ships whirled about towards the Conduit, the fighters breaking off each towards a different target, until the Normandy alone stormed onwards until the crater surrounding the massive tower was visible. Reaper ground forces were scattered about, tearing through friend and foe alike in blind rage. A Harvester launched itself from the ground, only to splatter against the incoming Normandy like a fly. The fighters wove their way through the ruins guns ablaze, each shot finding a new target to decimate. Lower and lower the Normandy flew, until its goal was finally within sight; the scattered remains of Hammer force arrayed around the Conduit.

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Faint, muddied sounds at long last began to be registered by the Commander's wearied brain. Sounds of battle, pain, and triumph. With a groan and a mighty exertion of will, he forced open his eyes and shapes and colors swam before them.

"Commander Bailey! Over here," called out a distant, accented voice. It was soft, feminine. "I think he's waking up!"

"I, what, where-" Words were ghosts of thoughts, intangible things he desperately clutched at in his mind.

"No, stay still Commander," the voice ordered, as the dirt stained face of Dr. Michel came into clarity above him, her brow furrowed in concern. A shocked Bailey was soon there with her. His muscles feeling as heavy as lead, the Commander struggled to rise, only for strong hands to push him back down.

"Whoa, nice and easy there, Commander, no sudden movements. Take it slow."

With another groan, Shepard at last sat up, disregarding their advice and promptly regretting it. The world swam, and his stomach heaved, but he kept his last meal down. After a few seconds of agony, the world settled back into shape, and the space around him evoked an old memory.

"Where, where am I?" he stuttered. "Is this-"

"My old clinic?" Michel finished his question. "Yes. We've been using it as a resistance base."

Confusion played out across the Commander's face. "Resistance?"

This time it was Bailey who interjected. "Reaper's caught us with our pants down here, and not everyone got out. What was left of C-Sec, and just about everyone else on the station who knew how to shoot a gun, banded together to help keep the civvies safe, and ourselves alive." The man paused for a moment and shook his head. "It's a damn good thing you got that Citadel militia started up. I don't want to even think about where we'd be right now without their men and resources."

The throbbing in his head finally began to relent, and Shepard looked about to take in his surroundings. Two other bodies sat off to the side, white sheets draped over their forms. An IV ran into his own arm. The Commander took a long hard look at the other two bodies before turning to face Bailey once more. The C-Sec chief was somber.

"The Admiral had already passed when we found you three. I'm sorry. You were barely alive as it was. As for the guy who was looking half a Husk, well…" Bailey could only shrug at that.

"How did I get here?"

"Now that's the million dollar question now isn't it," came Bailey's response as he sat down next to the battered soldier, and the doctor busied herself with the equipment. The signs of battle were all around them; cratered floors and walls riddled with bullet holes, plasma scarring and scorch marks all along the way. "A little bit after everything started going crazy, a group of Keepers just trundled on up to our barricade with you three in tow. Damnedest thing I've ever seen.

Confusion reigned once more upon the Commander's scraped and bruised visage. "What do you mean when thing's went crazy?"

At this, Bailey raised a brow. "Well, I'd have thought you of all people would have known what the hell happened up there on the Crucible. Guess not. Take a look for yourself."

With a smooth, gentle motion, he turned Shepard's cot towards the window.

Beyond the cracked glass, the Wards were burning. Flames and smoke of every color sputtered from an infinite number of blazes, and burning chunks of debris streaked downwards through the sky. The smoldering wreckage of the Crucible floated in the space above them, beyond the station's gravity, only for the occasional piece to drift away from the cloud, too close to a Ward, and subject to gravity's will once more. Outside, he could hear the sounds of battle. Beyond the window, the form of a Harvester flew past, struggling to stay aloft as a half a dozen Husks clung to its body and clawed away. In the alley below a Brute and a Banshee dueled one another, oblivious to the Resistance soldiers hurrying a turian family into a building behind them.

"What happened?"

Bailey shook his head. "God damn miracle that's what. The Crucible fired, blew itself up, and next thing you know all the Reaper ground soldiers are trying to tear each other apart. Whatever you did up there, it worked."

The Commander could only shrug. "To be honest…a lot of what happened up there is a blur. " A sudden thought ripped through his mind, and he cursed himself for not realizing it earlier; he ground assault team. His squad. Liara. "Bailey," he rasped, voice strained, "do you have contact with the rest of the fleet? With any ground forces?" Commander Shepard felt the faintest traces of something he had not known in a long time; panic. His own thoughts terrified him; losing his crew, his friends, the people that had become his family. Losing Liara.

He could feel his pulse racing, the medical equipment next to him beeping wildly.

"Commander!" the doctor exclaimed, before forcing her voice to a more soothing tone, "please, you must stay calm. You've taken many wounds. You need to give your body time to heal, to rest. In your condition a heart rate this high is a disaster waiting to happen."

"Listen to the Doc, Shepard," Bailey added. "We were able to open comms with Hackett a few minutes before you woke up. I've got someone on the line who's very eager to talk to you." With that, the old C-Sec officer gently deposited a battered communicator on his lap and left him in peace.

Her voice cut through the static like a knife, and his heart ached at the very sound of it.

"Shepard?" came her single word, plaintive, hopeful.

Lips cracked and dried cuts bled anew as the man could not help but smile.

"Liara."

**End Chapter. Please keep letting me know what you think, and if there's any particular subplot you're eager to see resolved, put it in the reviews. I'm going to try and cover them all, but there's bound to be a few I'm going to forget (there's just so many) so just keep reminding me. Also, writing the more romantic sections of this is largely a new genre for me, so please let me know what you think.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I still am not Bioware. Shocker, I know. Anyways, you guys have been great. Please keep up the reviews, and the suggestions (reminders, really) for the subplots you'd like to see resolved. I'm going to try and cover all the bases so to speak, but there's bound to be a few that will slip my mind. Anyways, onwards to the story!**

**UPDATE: Bioware has recently announced the release of a DLC entitled Mass Effect: Extended Cut that will be free this summer, and supposedly provide some more insight into the head-scratch and fist-shake inducing turd that was the ending. How it plans to do so remains to be seen. Just thought I'd let you know.**

When the doctor's latest treatment began to take effect, the Commander fell into a deep slumber, and as he slept, he dreamt.

He dreamt of a snowy field, its barren trees coated in ice, and in the deep blue sky above him twin moons loomed overhead. The Catalyst, or at least the form it had taken, stood alone, staring up at the sky mournfully.

"You," the human called out, stepping towards it slowly, with trepidation. Silently, the glowing form of the child turned to face him. Swallowing hard, the Commander stood his ground and faced it. "Where are we? Why am I here? Is this….real?"

The construct seemed to sigh, and the world around them began to fade into nothingness, its colors draining to grey, shapes blurring at the edges. "No," it answered at last. "This is a…. memory. Nothing more." Its voice was weary, exhausted. "I wished to speak with you one final time, while we are still able. The neural link you formed with this station will not last once you are removed from it, and your comrades are transferring you physical body to your own ship as we speak."

It was strange. If he hadn't known better, the Commander would have sworn that he'd heard regret, uncertainty, in the AI's voice. "What, what did you want to say to me?" He found himself at a loss for words.

The scenery around them was in constant flux, one minute the Presidium, the next the Wards, their setting constantly shifting. It was enough to give the man a massive headache.

"I wanted to…thank you," the child answered. "You've stopped it, the cycle. The culling. You have permitted me to return to my other functions."

"So, what will you do now? What will happen to the Citadel, to the people who live here?"

The child was silent, and the colors all around them swirled and writhed. Finally, it answered. "I shall perform the functions I always have, observing organic life, recording it. Archiving. "

With one hand upraised, the child willed the ever-shifting background to solidify, and a single image crystallized before them. The Citadel sat among the purple clouds of the Serpent Nebula, gently rotating, as was its custom.

"When this station has been cleared of all Reaper forces," the construct continued, "I shall prepare it for transport and return it to its standard positioning. Normal operations will then resume." The child seemed to falter for a moment. "You, you shall be the last organic that I will interact directly with, Shepard. My contemporaries and I have caused enough chaos in the galaxy. I am…content, to remain an observer, an archivist, and nothing more."

The AI seemed almost melancholy at this. Shepard struggled to find the right words. "Are, are you sure? What about all of the knowledge you hold about the past? The other civilizations that the Reapers wiped out? Your own creators?"

The world around him began to flicker in and out of existence, the child's form beginning to flicker.

"We've not much time left. The connection is almost broken. The data I have collected shall remain stored, safe. The species of this era, your era, must find their own path. Look to your futures, not the past. The mistakes of the past have caused enough damage already…"

The world around him began to break down even faster. All color drained from the scenes that played before his eyes, and the form of the ashen grey forest that had haunted him these long months solidified for half a heartbeat. The child stood there as he had in his nightmares, forlorn among the shades of the dead.

"Goodbye, Shepard," the Catalyst spoke as the world crumbled to dust around him. "This experience has been…enlightening."

With that final word, the grey forest dissolved into nothingness, and the darkness took him once again.

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The first human Spectre awoke in the Normandy's medical bay with a gasp that set his heart pounding and an exhausted Dr. Chakwas rushing to side.

"Commander? Commander? Oh thank God," the greying doctor said, hand over her heart. "You had us so worried there. You started seizing as we began to transfer you, and we had to sedate you to stop them. We worried we'd lose you."

Her words rang in his ears, and thoroughly spent, the only thing he could do was collapse backwards into the pillows that had been laid out for him on the medical table.

"How long was I out?," Shepard rasped, his pulse ringing in his ears as his heart finally began to slow.

Taking a moment to compose herself, the doctor set about her work as she answered him. "About two hours, according to Dr. Michel. She sedated you for your own sake after you made contact with the ground team. Once the Normandy was done giving air support and evac, we headed straight for the Citadel."

The old doctor couldn't help but smile, a proud glint in her eye. "Marine teams are starting to sweep the Wards with Resistance members, and the fleets are letting the Reapers tear each other apart, and then mopping up survivors. You did it, Commander. We're winning this!"

Relief settled over his weary and broken body like a blanket. Exhaustion seeped into his bones, and it was all he could do to stay conscious.

Dr. Chakwas smiled gently. "Rest now, Commander. You've earned it. "

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Shepard drifted gently in and out of consciousness, dream blurring with reality. He caught glimpses of the world through barely cracked eyes and numbed ears.

James's bulk blocked some of the light, his armor half stripped off, his white shirt soaked in sweat and stained in dirt and blood. His eyes were intent, his lips drawn tight, his face crinkled as if in deep thought. Finally, he spoke.

"Take it easy, Loco," he said, softly. His face drew even tighter, his voice strained. "Don't you dare die on us now. I still owe you that drink at the bar in Rio, man. Don't leave me hanging." With a final muttered curse in Spanish, James turned and headed towards the door, sparing a final look backwards.

"Get better, Commander. I'll be back soon."

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Time drifted onwards at a crawl, the world inching onwards as if slowly freezing in amber.

Ashley drifted into focus, seated in a chair next to him, elbows on her knees, chin in her hands. "Hey, Shepard," she whispered. "Guess I know how you felt back on the Citadel, now." She gave a bitter half laugh. "I can't say that I like it."

With a heavy sigh, she ran her fingers back through her dark hair. "I've been thinking a lot about the past, Shepard. Sovereign, Saren, Virmire…"

Her voice trailed of slightly as a pain grew behind her eyes. "I know the doctors are saying you'll pull through," she said, finding her voice once again, "but seeing you here, like this, and knowing that you nearly died because you went up there alone, it just, I…" She sighed once again. "Its ridiculous, I know, but…I need you, Commander. We all do. So…pull through, ok? For me."

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Garrrus and Tali stood at the base of his bed, his arm settled comfortably on the small of her back.

"…best we can figure each Reaper has consolidated control over their own group of ground forces and fighters, and are still duking it out with each other. They're hardly paying any attention to us unless they've run out of their own to shoot at and-"

"Honestly, Vakarian," Tali cut him off, her voice muffled by her suit and dripping with a dry sarcasm. "What did I ever see in you? You really think Shepard is going to want to wake up to tactical reports?" She stepped away from him, hands on her hips. "What was the first thing you did when Joker pulled us out of there," she asked of him, her head cocked to the side ever so slightly.

The turian stammered and stumbled over his answer for a moment, before meeting the quarian's gaze. "Well, I hardly think that's an option right now with him unconscious and her getting treated for her arm. Still, you raise a fair point."

Tali simply shook her head. "Come on, Archangel," she said, her tone playful one more. "Let's let the Commander rest. Besides, I have some…calibrations…you can help me with."

With that, the quarian strutted out the door, and Garrrus simply shook his head. "Well, Shepard," he said at last, "I'd best not keep the Admiral waiting. I…"His voice faltered for a moment. "There, there was a point down there when we thought we'd lost you. Liara was, " Garrus could simply shake his head. "She was putting Jack to shame in the 'crazy biotic' category. We were all hurt, and angry, but her, she was just beside herself." He paused once more, shaking his head. "You're important to her, Shepard. To all of us. Hang in there, Commander. I hear the bottles are planning to revolt, and I'm going to need my wingman."

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"Jeff? There is something I do not understand."

The staccato of EDI's metal footsteps on the deck punctuated the air until she and Joker stood at the bed of their commanding officer. The pilot sighed; he had come to dread these kinds of questions. Shepard was so much better at answering them.

"Go ahead EDI. What is it?"

"By all statistical analyses and two different doctors' expert opinion, Shepard has an extremely high probability of a full recovery. Why then are so many of the crew visibly distressed?"

Joker sighed, visibly flustered. "I can't really say. Maybe its just because its…him, you know? After seeing him brush off everything the galaxy's thrown at him like it was nothing, only to have him so…broken…. like this, its unsettling. At least it is for me. Everyone deals with it in their own way."

The AI paused for a moment as she processed this. "I see," she answered at last. "Is that why Lieutenant Vega has put in a request to be stationed as a guard outside the medbay? With a Claymore?"

The pilot could only shrug. "Beats the hell out of me," he answered, lifting his hat to scratch underneath. "Come on, EDI, the doc is getting ready to give him another treatment." With a sigh, the crippled pilot limped over to his friend's bedside. "Hang in there, buddy. We're all here for you."

As he motioned to leave, the AI spoke up once again. "Jeff, if the Commander is largely unconscious, then why are people still attempting to speak with him?"

"Because," the pilot sighed, "it's the thought that counts."

"I see. Get well soon, then, Shepard," EDI said, with as much emotion as her processors could muster.

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What seemed an eternity later, Commander Shepard awoke from his drug-induced slumber, gently released from the haze that had clouded his mind. When he did, he saw the form of Dr. Chakwas. The doctor smiled tiredly at him and stood.

"Well, Commander, you've been running me through quite the gauntlet, but you're stabilized at last. That said, there's someone here who's been quite anxious to speak with you. I'll take my leave."

The doctor casually strolled out, and in walked Liara. His breath caught in his chest. Their eyes met, and she froze in place, the beginnings of a tear trickling down her face. "Shepard," she whispered, before rushing to his side and catching him in an embrace. Agony mulled his joy as sharp pains shot through the man's ragged body, and a bout of coughing erupted from his chest. Horrified, the asari recoiled.

"Gentle," the man managed between his fits. "Be gentle. I'm still a little tender." He forced a smile for her as she looked away to wipe a tear, before taking him once more in hug, though far gentler this time. Finally, she released him took her seat where the doctor had previously waited. Wincing slightly at the pain, the man reached out and took her hand in his own. She wiped her eyes once more and looked down at the man she loved.

"I thought I'd lost you," she said, her voice strained. "When Harbinger landed and began tearing through Hammer team, and, and then you weren't among the survivors we recovered, I thought that…" Her voice trailed off as the stampede of words slowed, and she shook her head. "Oh, Goddess, I don't want to even think about it anymore."

"Shh," the man whispered to her, gently and softly. "Its alright now. I'm fine." He forced a smile as he looked back up at her, grinning devilishly. "Besides, you don't really think I'd leave a job half done, do you? I distinctly remember a certain promise I made to you, involving one hell of a wedding and a lot of little blue children."

That, at long last, produced a smile from her and a tiny laugh, but mirth quickly gave way to trepidation as she averted her eyes, and bit her lip. Slowly, she moved his hand to her abdomen, settling over her stomach.

"I think we may have already gotten a head start in that arena, Shepard." The Commander's eyes went wide and his jaw began to drop. The asari gave a worried smile. "Or should I say, Daddy?"

**End Chapter. Please review and such. This chapter had a few references to a number of little Easter eggs throughout the games, most notably Garrus and Tali entering into a relationship if you have not romanced either of them over the course of the series. You can find them "calibrating" up at the main battery after the Cerberus Base mission but before going to Earth. Also referenced is a scene from the ME2 Lair of the Shadow Broker DLC where you can reconnect with a previously romanced Liara. Anyways, I'm sure all this craps on YouTube, so dive in if you like. Til next time folks.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: Blah. Don't own it. Blah. That is all. **

**Also, as you may or may not have noticed, last chapter had a special bit from every squad-mate except for Javik. The reason for the lack of everyone's favorite angry semi-Jamaican sounding (at least to me) four-eyed 50,000 year old is because, despite buying the damn day-one DLC, I couldn't get it to work. Not even after re-downloading it three times. So yah. Screw the man, and all that. **

** Anyways, I say this dear reader because I am leaving it up to you guys whether or not you want to see him. I've seen enough YouTube clips to have a bit of a feel for the character, so I think I could muddle by with him. Anyways, let me know in the reviews whether or not you want to see him. Onwards to the story!**

Groaning as he did it, the man pulled himself out of his hospital bed and onto his own feet for the first time in what felt like years. Brushing aside the curtain partition the doctor had set up for him for some minimal degree of privacy, the man caught glance of himself in the reflection on the glass, and struggled to contain a gasp; he knew he was in bad shape, but the truth was far grislier than he had imagined.

His flesh was cracked and peeling away all across his face, the glow of his cybernetic implants beneath them shining through. The man sighed; he'd need a few sessions with the dermal regeneration unit before he'd be making any public appearances. The damage didn't end with his face, though. With dread, he lifted his shirt to see the swath of bandages that covered his abdomen, and what he was sure to one day become an exceptionally hideous scar. His wandering mind and eye was reigned in by the sudden voice of the doctor.

"Commander," she chastised, walking into the medical bay. "You know you really should be in bed."

With only a modicum of pain, the man turned to face her and smiled. "I'm going stir crazy in here, Doc. I need to get out of here. See what's happening with the war. Do something." His voice was earnest, plaintive, and he could see the doctor's will wavering.

"I thought Garrus was keeping you updated?" she offered pathetically, desperately grasping at straws to keep her patient bedbound. He would not have any of it, though.

"Its not the same, Karin. Stuck in here, I just feel…useless."

The doctor could barely contain her laughter. "Commander, you were in a coma, a damn coma, after singlehandedly turning the tables on the Reapers in this war. You saved the life of every living person in the galaxy, and avenged the deaths of every civilization that those monsters crushed in the past." She shook her head, laughing. "Yes, the one word I can think of that history will use to describe you is 'useless'. You've earned a break, Commander."

"I appreciate the sentiment, Doc, but it doesn't change how I feel."

Doctor Chakwas sighed. "Well, in that case, if you insist on going out and about and facing the world once again, we're going to have to do something about your face."

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Commander Shepard entered the war room to the sounds of applause, as every analyst and tech in the center dropped what they were doing and turned to face him. Motioning for their silence, he turned to address them.

"You should be congratulating yourselves," he began voice resounding through the dome-like chamber. "Your hard work and dedication have been vital to this war effort, and you are every bit as much heroes as our men and women on the ground. I am honored to have served with you."

Another round of applause and cheers broke through the hardened shell of military discipline. Shepard could only smile. "Okay people, as you were. We still have a war to win!"

As the accolades at last died down, the Commander limped over towards the console, only to be intercepted by Garrus.

"Well," he started, " that wasn't not your most sweeping of speeches, but I'm glad to see that a couple of scrapes hasn't diminished your talent for talking people to death. Is that what you did to Harbinger?"

The turian's extended hand was taken in a firm grip as the human shook his head. "To be honest, Garrus, I'm still not sure what happened up there, what was real and what was just in my head. Its all…blurry." His somber tone quickly evaporated as he turned to more lighthearted topics. "And its good thing I can still talk. Otherwise we'd have to leave all the motivational speeches to you and Joker."

The turian shook his head, scarred face pulled back in his equivalent of a smile. "Well, glad I dodged that bullet, then. Its good to see you back on your feet, Shepard."

The Commander nodded, releasing his grip on his friend's hand as the alien led him back towards the comms room. "Its good to be back, Garrus."

"EDI and I have been keeping things running up here, and Liara has been helping with her, uh, 'special contacts'." The turian stopped and gave his friend a sly look. "And I understand there's some congratulations to be had on that front."

Shepard stopped in his tracks, his brows arcing skywards. "I, uh, she told you?" he started, stuttering. The turian shrugged.

"It's a small ship, Shepard. Tali overheard her talking the doctor about seeing an asari specialist, and, well you've seen how the Admiral holds her liquor."

The turian smiled but the commander could only shake his head. "Who else knows?"

"Relax, Commander," Garrus answered him, hands upraised. "I made sure no one else found out."

Brows furrowing, Shepard crossed his arms and stared intently at his friend. "No one?" he questioned.

The turian averted his eyes. "Alright, EDI may have overheard it. But I made her promise to keep it a secret. "

"This just keeps getting better and better…"

"She's kept it so far, Shepard. Though she has been obsessed with kids ever since. Keeps sending Tali and I the names of inter-species adoption agencies."

Shepard simply shook his head. "I can only imagine what she's been sending Joker, then. Still, I'd appreciate your discretion, Garrus."

"The great Commander Shepard, scared witless by a baby." The turian gave a laugh. "You have to admit, it's a bit funny."

The man could only shrug. "Meet me at the bar later on, and I'm sure a couple of drinks in I'll be telling you just how amused by it I am." He shook his head, sighing. "That's a talk for another time, I guess. Can you bring up Admiral Hackett on the comms? I want to get a feel for where we are with the war effort."

"That won't be necessary, Shepard," a grizzled voice called as its owner emerged from the comms room, hands behind his back. Admiral Hackett's scarred face twisted into a small smile. "Glad to have you back, Commander."

Shepard scrambled into a sharp salute, and the admiral returned it in kind before turning to Garrus. "Thank you General Vakarian, I'll take it from here. Please inform Primarch Victus that it seems Shepard may very well be joining us for our next strategy session."

The Commander gave his friend a wary eye. "General Vakarian? That's new. When were you planning on sharing?"

If a turian could blush, the man was sure his friend's face would have been bright red by this point. " The Primarch recommended me for one of the, er, 'newly vacated' positions." Garrus spoke with hesitation as he looked up to meet his friend's gaze. "It's a temporary advancement, I'm sure. Emergency wartime line of succession, lots of bureaucratic restrictions and red tape. But, still…"

Garrus could only shrug, his eyes betraying the calm stoicism his face reflected. Shepard clapped him on the shoulder. "Sounds like you're the one in need of congratulations," he said to his friend. "One more reason to catch up at the bar."

The turian shook his head. "I'll hold you to that!" Garrus called as he turned and walked away, leaving the Commander alone with the Admiral.

Shepard moved to speak, but Hackett cut him off with an upraised hand. "Let me save you some time," he said, voice gravelly as usual. "I boarded a few hours ago, to use the war room facilities to coordinate fleet activities. My flagship took heavy damage during our last engagement, and Normandy has the best set up in the galaxy for this kind of work." The man took a moment to drink in the frenetic pace of the activity around him. "She's served beautifully at it so far. I can see why Admiral Anderson was so eager to use her as his command base."

Anderson. The mere mention of his name evoked painful memories, and the Commander could not help but cringe ever so slightly. "Admiral Hackett, please understand I did everything in my power to try and save him, but, but the bleeding, it was just too much, I-"

"Easy there, soldier," Hackett said, cutting him off, his voice a shade gentler than usual. "You don't need to explain yourself to me, Shepard. I know how important Anderson was to you." The man sighed. "Now I've gotten the reports of the accounts you gave earlier, but I'd like to debrief you personally at some point. But when you're ready, not before. We've got a handle on the new tactical situation already; this is just personal concern Shepard, one soldier to another."

The Commander paced uneasily as memories returned to him unbidden; Anderson and the Illusive Man, the Catalyst. Harbinger. Even mere memories of the darkness that was the Reaper's mind sent shivers down his spine.

"I, I appreciate that, sir. What is the new tactical situation, then?"

Hackett nodded his approval. "Straight to business then, I see. Walk with me."

The admiral approached the central console of the chamber, where the Commander was surprised to see the holographic display of the Crucible replaced by one of Earth.

"As soon as the Crucible activated," the man began, eyes trained on the holographic globe with intent, "it sent out a pulse that laid bare the Reaper communication network. Our techs were able to get a look, albeit a brief one, at how the things communicate, and found that they all linked back to a common point for their orders and commands."

"Harbinger," Shepard spat, trying, and failing, to quash the memories that haunted him.

Hackett turned and nodded. "Exactly," he answered, before returning his attention to the map. "The Crucible's primary pulse seemed to be directed specifically at Harbinger, and after a few minutes, that monster sent out one final message to all Reapers across all frequencies before shutting down." The admiral shook his head, still in disbelief. "All processes went dark, and it just dropped like a rock from the skies above England. Recon says it came down somewhere in the English Channel."

The admiral took a moment to adjust the map slightly, and the tiny red holographic representation of Reapers that the Commander had come to despise began cropping up all over it. They sat as they had before the attack, in neatly ordered rows across Earth's upper atmosphere; a blockade.

"Now after Harbinger went dark, all order in the Reaper lines broke. Some went into a self-destruct cycle, others shut down just like Harbinger had, but the vast majority of them turned on each other, and hardly gave our forces a second glance until they ran out of their own kind to kill." Hackett paused to press a button on the console, and the holographs began to reflect this. One by one, the miniature Reapers began to blink out of existence, until only a fraction of their number remained.

"We were able to open comms with other militaries and resistance movements still on occupied planets, and found the same situation." With a sigh, the man turned to face Shepard. "We can actually win this, now," he said to him, hints of incredulity still hidden in his level tone. "We have a fighting chance."

The Commander was silent as he drank in the news, the sight of Earth, his home, having a chance at freedom. It was over, at long last finally over. His waking nightmare for the past three years, the hell of the past few months; finally over. It was overwhelming.

"What, what's our next step?" the Commander managed to choke out, quashing his emotions.

Admiral Hackett gave a quiet harrumph before turning back to the map. "That's where it get's interesting, Shepard," he answered, manipulating the map so that it zoomed in on the North American continent. Numerous Reaper holographs were positioned across it, hovering over the sites of Earth's megacities. "It seems that each individual Reaper can control a portion of their auxiliary forces; their Oculi fighters and the various ground forces. The Reapers that survived the initial wave of casualties following Harbinger's deactivation have gone planetside. They're bunkering down in whatever respective territory they have claimed, and are still duking it out with each other from there."

"Meaning our civilians are still caught in the crossfire," Shepard concluded. Hackett nodded in ascent.

"The individual Reapers are still…processing….people in their territories, its just no longer a priority. Standard procedure so far has been to devote a portion of the fleets to take down the Reaper while ground teams go in and shut down processing facilities. So far its worked, and without any significant casualties on our side. Alone, the Reapers are still powerful, but they're slow. With proper positioning and planning, we can take them down with minimal losses."

As the admiral spoke, one of the holographic Reapers over the site of New York City blipped out of existence, and a cheer went up throughout the war room. Hackett gave a small smile. "We've been prioritizing population centers, and with the sheer numbers we have on our side, we've been able to run a rotating mission cycle day in and day out. At this rate, we'll have Earth clear of actual Reapers in a week or two."

"And then?"

"Teams will have to be sent in to deal with remaining Reaper ground forces. Now that could take months, but with the Reaper's themselves taken care of, we'll be at the advantage. Once the actual Reapers are gone, the fleet will move on to other occupied planets. Species home worlds are obvious top priorities. I believe Palaven was decided as the next target."

Commander Shepard felt something stir in his chest as he gazed at the map, and the bustle of the war room. He felt something that had been slowly dying in him months, a fire that had cooled to embers, nearly put out by nightmares, pain, and death. For the first time in what felt like ages, Shepard felt hope.

"Where do you need me, sir?"

**End chapter. Please review and what not. Let me know what you think about adding Javik, and any plot lines that you'd like to see resolved.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Allow me to apologize for the delay on this update. Truth is, I'm just a very irregular writer. Some days its on, others not so much. Anyways, back now though for a new update! (Fair warning, language ahead)**

**In other news, the Mass Effect: Extended Cut downloadable content released a few days back, and I have to say, I'm pretty apathetic about it. A few extra minutes of the same still images and the option to shoot the damn Space Child (while endlessly satisfying) didn't really do it for me. All in all, I found it very underwhelming.**

**Anyways, enough from me. On to the good stuff!**

**Insert standard witty disclaimer here**

With a wince of pain and a heavy sigh, Commander Shepard lowered himself down onto the dust-streaked barstool. He ran his fingers along the polished surface of the wooden bar, fingers dancing across the grain of the rainforest wood before they found their way to his glass. The cool fire of the finest rum Vega could find in the old bar's cellar ran down his throat and warmed his belly.

"If I have to give one more interview this week, I'm throwing myself out an airlock." Exhaustion permeated the soldier's voice as he nursed his drink. The flickering lights above fended off the night's darkness while a warm tropical breeze lilted in through the gaping holes in the walls, the sounds of revelry carried on its back. Rio de Janeiro was celebrating. The last Reaper on Earth had been felled in the early hours of the morning, its corpse a half-drowned monolith jutting from the bay. Her streets were clean of the deactivated mechanical monsters of the Reaper War, and now her people were celebrating. Hackett had chosen the city as a symbolic spot to formally announce victory on Earth.

"You're the most famous man in the galaxy, Loco," Vega called out as the man emerged from the cellar, more bottles in hand. "Enjoy it a little."

When he had heard they were going to be Rio, there had been no stopping the soldier from dragging his comrades to his favorite watering hole. The bar bore a great many scars from the war, but Vega had been undeterred. They had found it abandoned, and the Sergeant had quickly set to work. With practiced ease, he laid out glasses along the bar and filled them neatly before sliding them down the polished wood with a flourish.

With mock applause, Ashley Williams took her glass and gave it a quick look over before frowning. "Ugh. Not this stuff again, Vega. Never again." With disdain, she shoved the glass away. Shepard could only laugh, though it pained his bruised and battered body. Williams shot him a glare that made the tired soldier relent. Vega could only shake his head and pour himself another shot.

"Suit yourself, Chief. You don't know what you're missing."

"Oh believe me," she retorted, "I do."

All three of them laughed at that. With a sigh of contentment, Shepard opened himself to the sounds of the night. Faint traces of distant music found their way into the room, tickling his ears as the rum danced on his tongue. Garrus and Tali had disappeared together as soon as they had found the turian brandy. He gave a quiet laugh at that; he hoped she had remembered her "emergency induction port".

"Liara! What can I get you?"

James' only slightly slurred voice roused him from his thoughts. As he turned to face the door, he couldn't help but smile. Even in this place, among dirt and dust, she was resplendent, her skin practically aglow.

"No thanks, nothing for me tonight." Her voice was soft, and he could have sworn that she was blushing.

"Come on Vega," came Ashley's voice as she rose to her feet. "Let's go see if we can't find anything more to my taste down there."

The Commander shot Williams a look that spoke volumes. With a small smile acknowledging his silent thanks, the second human Spectre dragged a dazed Vega back down to the cellar.

Alone in the hot and humid night, Shepard finished is drink in one long swig before rising to his feet. Aged floorboards creaked under his feet as the man approached his love, his scarred and worn hands settling around her waist.

"So," he began, drawing the asari in closer to him, "how did it go?"

With the break in the fighting, there had finally been a chance for her to see an asari doctor stationed with their fleet. The blue-skinned woman gave a meek smile.

"Everything is…normal," she said at last. "I'm in perfect health, all things considered. She gave me some information packets for the pregnancy; diet, exercise, sleep-" Her words were coming rapid-fire now, tumbling from her mouth in a panic until with one smooth motion the man she loved laid a finger over her lips.

"Relax," he said softly. "I'm scared as hell too, but we'll get through this like we've gotten through everything else; together."

As he stared into Liara's eyes, Shepard's ears were deafened to the music of Rio's joy, and mind emptied of all worries. For now, there was only her, and that was all he needed.

ooooooooooo ooooooooooo ooooooooooo oooooooooooo ooooooooooo ooooooooo

He left the podium with a heavy sigh, all but deafened by the applause. Commander Shepard was tired. Tired of the politicking and public appearances, tired of interviews, and more than anything else tired of the buzzing of those damn camera-bots.

He gave a silent prayer that Doctor Chakwas would clear him for return to active duty, and soon. Leaving the stage to Commander Bailey, Shepard walked down the charred balconies of the Presidium. Even damaged as it was, the Presidium was still the heart of the Citadel, and there was no better place to formally announce the allied forces' clearing of the station than there. The Keepers had already begun to repair parts damaged in the fighting, and preparing the station for travel. The Catalyst, it seemed, was keeping its word.

Alone at last, the aching soldier sat down on a half-melted bench, its plastics and metals reduced a twisted blob stuck to the floor. With a sigh of relief, Shepard savored his moment of solitude, before it came to an abrupt end.

"Resting your ass, Shepard? All you've been doing these past few days is talk out of it, so I guess you deserve a break."

With a weary smile, Commander Shepard turned to face Subject Zero. Jack approached him, arms folded and ponytail bobbing as she walked. The man shook his head.

"Only you could've put it so elegantly, Jack," Shepard answered. "Good to see you in one piece."

The biotic leaned against a planter across from her old commanding officer.

"Same," she said, getting comfortable in her chosen spot. "Would've been a real killjoy if you had bit it down there."

Silence reigned for a moment as Shepard shook his head in a silent half-laugh.

"You look miserable."

Her words cut through the air like her favorite shotgun. Shepard could only nod.

"I am," he answered her at last. "I need to be back in the field again. All this pomp and ceremony…I can't stand it. I need to get back out and do something. Anything."

Jack nodded.

"Believe me, I know the feeling." She shook her head. "I'm still getting used to actually being responsible for people. That's why I'm even on this oversized chunk of scrap in the first place. Some of my kids were still on-station when the shit hit the fan here."

The soldier straightened up a little bit at this, intent to hear what had happened. He could not help but feel pride in the woman seeing how far she had come. Where before she had had nothing but anger, hatred, and pain, now she had a purpose, a home, and a family; people who cared for her, and were cared for in return. Something had changed in her, something more than just her clothes and her hair. For the first time in a long time, she was happy, and he was happy for her.

"So how are they, your kids?"

Behind Jack's eyes, he could see a pain begin to grow.

"I…lost a few of them," she said, sorrow creeping into her voice before hardening into fury, her eyes ablaze. "But I made the fucking Reapers pay for every last one of them, and I'm never forgetting."

Rolling up her sleeve, the woman showed the Commander her forearm, and the line of still fresh, inflamed initials inked into her flesh. Shepard nodded; everyone grieved in their own way.

"You shouldn't forget them," Shepard offered, his own memories returning to him; Akuze and the Thresher Maw, the Collectors and the first Normandy. He knew how easy it was to fall into despair. "You shouldn't forget about the ones you still have, though. The past is like looking at the sun; stare too long and-"

"Go blind, yah, got it. Who do you think you are, fucking Confucius?"

The Commander could merely shrug, Jack's acid tongue an almost comforting reminder of times past. Almost. The fire in her eyes dying, Jack finally sighed.

"You have a point, though. And it could have been a lot worse. My kids up here were able to shack up with that militia you started when things went bad, and the ones who were in support roles were able to stay out of the way of most of the trouble. Most of them made it." She paused for a moment, pensive. "So thanks, I guess."

Shepard nodded. "I'm glad that so many of them made it. You're doing good work with them, Jack. Keep it up."

The woman merely scoffed. "Yeah, yeah. Don't go getting all sappy on me, Shepard. Save the emotional crap for someone who gives a shit. "

The Commander shook his head before answering. "Some things never change, then."

Jack cocked a brow at him. "I haven't gone _that_ soft, Shepard."

"I never said you'd gone soft at all," he answered her, raising his hands in mock protest."

Jack shook her head, a smile starting to grow.

"Listen, Shepard," she started, awkwardly, before frowning at her start. "Fuck, I'm bad at this kind of shit. Look, just…when all this is over, don't be a stranger, okay? Stop by the Academy some time."

With a smile, Shepard rose to his feet and laid his hand on the woman's shoulder. "Of course," he answered her.

Jack's sly smile returned. "Good. Because the kids can always use some target practice, and I think this whole thing's proved you're un-fucking-killable."

oooooooooooo ooooooooooooo oooooooooooo ooooooooooooo ooooooooooo

"Admiral, permission to speak freely, sir?"

Hackett's stony visage turned away from the screens and monitors of the war room to face Shepard's own indomitable gaze.

"No need, Commander, I think I already know what you're going to say."

Slightly taken aback, the soldier paused "Sir?"

"It's all too obvious, Shepard. You're sick of the media circus already.

"I…yes, sir, I am."

Hackett nodded in understanding. "Honestly, I'm impressed you've been able to put up with it for this long. And before you say anything, there was a point behind them. You're a symbol, Shepard, _the_ symbol of this war, and our efforts against the Reapers. The people needed to see you, hear you. See that you were still in this fight."

The Commander blinked once, twice, and looked back at the Admiral.

"So all this has just been a…publicity stunt?"

"A morale boost, Commander. And a vital one at that."

Bristling slightly, the soldier felt anger rising in his voice.

"With all due respect, sir, I feel like I could best be put to use somewhere else. I want to do something."

For a moment, silence reigned, and Hackett gave a heavy sigh.

"Well then Commander, I think I have he perfect job for you. Ready to play the diplomat?"

"To who?"

"The Rachni."

**End chapter. Thanks for your patience guys. I know its been a while. Please review and comment, and list any subplots you'd like to see resolved.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Hey…so yeah, been gone for a while now. Lot of reasons for it, really. Part of it was me playing the stream of DLC that kept getting released for the game; I wanted the canon to be completely finished before I started playing around with it. Another factor was just life in general. I really ha vent had a lot of time to write this past year, so things kind of got put by the wayside. Thanks for sticking with me all the way through. Hope you enjoy the new stuff.**

** "**Absolutely not."

"Liara I-"

"Shepard, you're barely standing up on your own, and you want to go and face-"

"Liara!" Shepard sighed. He hated that he'd had to raise his voice at her, but ever since he'd emerged from the coma, she'd been fussing over him. Having official orders keep him cooped up in the Normandy was driving him insane; having her try to do it just made it worse.

"Liara," he said again more gently, "I appreciate the concern, but orders are orders. I'm fine. And besides, if I spend any more time in the medbay, I might just lose it."

"I..I'm sorry, Shepard," the asari answered somewhat sheepishly, laying her hands on his shoulders, a rueful smile playing across her lips. "I'm just worried about you." She bit her lip for a moment, blushing slightly, before continuing. "Worried about our daughter's father. After the trauma your mind went through with the Catalyst, are you really sure interacting with a psychic species like the rachni is really the best course of action?"

The man's hands rolled down his lover's waist and settled on the small of her back before drifting even further down, drawing her into his embrace.

"Have a little faith, Liara," he told her softly, with a smile. "At this point, this kind of thing is standard fare for me."

"That's what I'm worried about," the asari answered, her own hands starting to wander as a devilish smile spread across her lips. "I said it before, and I'll say it again; the only monster I want rooting through your head is me."

"You don't say, Madam Broker," the commander answered back, his eyes mischievous. "You know," he whispered to her, "the bruising is starting to fade."

"Glyph," the keeper of the galaxy's secrets called out, eyes scanning her quarters for any sign of the little drone. "Hold my calls and," she suppressed a shudder as her lover's hands wandered once more, "and lock the cabin door."

ooooooooo ooooooooo oooooooooo oooooooo ooooooooo ooooooooo ooooooooooo

The former agricultural ship the Crucible team had requisitioned to serve as a home for the rachni working on the project was all too eerie for Shepard's tastes. The lights had been dimmed to suit the rachni's preferences, and the modular design of the ship was all too reminiscent of bad memories aboard the prison ship Purgatory for the man's tastes. Still, he had a job to do, and for that he marched onwards, flanked by a fully armored Alliance marine team. When they reached the final door, the guards posted there scrambled into a hasty salute.

"C-Commander Shepard, sir! We weren't expecting you so soon, sir!"

The young woman nearly jumped out of her armor as the first human Spectre walked, and slightly limped, into view. He gave her a warm smile; she was a greenhorn if he'd ever seen one. Her fellow guard, a grizzled man nearly old enough to be her grandfather, suppressed a chuckle.

"At ease, soldier. What's the situation?"

The girl stuttered through her briefing, hands nervously at her rifle. Short on manpower after the catastrophic losses of the war, Shepard knew that the Alliance had been calling on every able-bodied soldier they had, shifting noncombat duties to the less fit troops. To see so green a recruit and so old a veteran, probably called out of retirement, on guard duty drove the point home for him; it also gave him hope of the rachni's cooperation. If they were cooperating, there would have been no need for heavy guard.

The guard's report was nothing new; negotiations had already begun through Citadel officials and a rachni proxy, by all reports the same asari he had met on Illium back during his hunt for the Collectors. His presence had been requested as a "goodwill ambassador", which the Commander disdainfully suspected was political speak for window dressing. Still, he thought, it would be good to see the rachni question through to its end; he'd started it, after all, all those years ago on Noveria.

With a smile, Shepard thanked the young soldier and stepped through the door, into the ag-ship's main chamber. The first thing that struck him was the smell; there was always a smell. It was cloyingly sweet yet rancid at the same time, like flowers left out to die and rot. It was the perfumed compost smell of the rachni webbing that plastered the walls of the ship's chamber, clusters of eggs hanging amongst the organic scaffolding while multitudes of the nigh neon green rachni workers tended to them. At the center of it all lay the enormity of the last rachni queen, her inhuman face still seemingly serene. A modestly dressed asari stood at her side, with what Shepard could only assume to be the Citadel delegation standing at a respectful, and safe, distance. At Shepard's entry, the queen's massive head turned towards the door and its beak-like mouth let out an excited chirp.

"Ah, Commander Shepard," a turian officer with the Citadel races' delegation said happily. "I am glad you've arrived. We were just finalizing the terms of a formal treaty with…err…"

As the turian trailed off, a human in engineer's coveralls picked up where he left off. "The queen's name is bit beyond the repertoire of our vocal cords," the man said quickly. "We, the project leads that is, have taken to calling her Arachne. It seemed appropriate, all things considered, and she seemed content enough with that." A withering glare from the turian official quickly cowed the man.

"Thank you, doctor," the turian continued with a slight clearing of his throat to return attention to himself. "As I was saying, by all accounts Arachne and her…children…were invaluable to the Crucible's construction. She has also voiced her willingness to continue in assisting with repairs to the fleets."

Clearing his throat once more, the diplomat retrieved a datapad from his assistant, a salarian who's eyes shifted about the entirety of the room at an alarming rate, and adopted his most official tone of voice. "In gratitude to these services, the Council has agreed that upon the clearing of the Ninmah Cluster of Reaper forces, aid will be rendered to the rachni…people…," again, the turian struggled with the proper semantics, "in a supervised program of reestablishment on their homeworld of Suen. Formal diplomatic channels will be established pending the success of this program."

"I'm glad that the Council sees things that way," Shepard answered, genuine gratitude in his voice. If the Council was going to final start trusting his judgment, well, better late than never. "With the work they've done on the Crucible, the rachni have more than earned a second chance. "

The turian nodded, almost grudgingly. "There were many who disagreed with your decision on Noveria, Commander," he said, his voice steely. The diplomat's face promptly softened, almost imperceptibly so. "We were wrong. You made the right call at Peak 15, Now its our turn to make things right."

Shepard turned to face the rachni queen, Arachne, now. The asari with her had settled into a cross-legged meditative pose, like the one he'd seen Samara adopt so many times before. Her eyes rolled up into the back of her head, until only the whites were visible, and she spoke as if in a trance as the rachni spoke through her.

"We thank you," came the asari's voice, distant and otherworldly. "The singers of the sour yellow note, the machines, they made our mothers beasts. When their song came again, we had learned, and we did not bow to it anew." The asari's head swayed lightly as Arachne gave a nod, another screeching chirp escaping her beak. "Our children," the asari continued, speaking with the voice of a once dead people, "our children have begun to learn harmony, here. We will help to mend the tools you use in fighting the machines, to purge their discord from the music. And when the songs are clean once more, we shall return to the singing planet. To home."

With a shudder, the asari left her trance, her eyes returning to normal. Rubbing her head in obvious discomfort, she returned a warm smile to the queen when the insect-like creature let out a concerned chirp at her pain. Her reassurances complete, the asari turned once more to Shepard.

"She is happy with the terms, Commander," she said to him with a small smile. "Her emotions are much easier to psychically sense than they are to vocalize, due to the rachni's method of communication. She was the one who suggested staying on and continue helping with repairs in the first place."

Rising to her feet, the asari brushed the dust of the chambers floor from her pants and stood up straight. "I will be remaining involved as an…intermediary…until a better method of communication can be worked out." She turned to the queen, and at a nod from the massive creature nodded once more to Shepard.

"You've made the galaxy a richer place, Commander. History will thank you. Just as I do."

As Shepard listened to her words, his eyes took in the scene around him. He was no xenobiologist, but it was plain to see that the queen looked healthier, happier. The bioluminescence her body gave off glowed softly in the chambers shadows, a look of serenity settled across her inhuman countenance. Pristine eggshells, clean of the grime and horrors of the Reapers, caught the scant light of the room and reflected it back. A hundred worker drones chirped and chattered as they tended to them, all working with a single unified purpose. It was a music, of sorts.

A music that would be sung in the galaxy once again.

**End Chapter. Hope you enjoyed it everyone. Like I said, sorry for the long silence, but, well, shit happens. Also Arachne is a reference to Greek mythology, a woman who was turned into the first spider for daring to challenge the goddess Athena (a goddess whom the asari goddess Athene is probably based off). Felt appropriate, and I got tired of just calling her "rachni queen". Anyways, please review.**


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